I knew I had to find her, extract her undue promise! Pace quickening, I headed straight home and saw the chaos - my wife bouncing the baby, fat and gurgling, as always trying to pull at my tie. My wife was beautiful when I married her; a blushing bride, the chaste young virgin. Barely 2 years on: life's hard lines had started to settle in, painting a fixed scowl on her face. Her face said it all when she turned to me : I Blame You for the months you take away, snatched out of my hands, for the youth starting to bury itself underneath those folds of flab.
I settled the baby in her cot, a misshapen lump of us. Brief thoughts flashed past - the poor thing, she didn't know what type of life she was going to lead. I avoided conversation during dinner with my once youthful lover, our silence a chasm of unspoken hurt. And when the dishes were put away and the baby aslept, I avoided her eyes and told her I was going out to do a late night interview.
My sleeves rolled up, my hair slicked back. I glanced in our bathroom mirror before I left. It felt like a first date all over again, only it was not. I remembered my first date, the muscular swagger, trying to humor her with party tricks. The sweat of our young bodies pressed together, and later - the sting of her slap when I tried to slip my hand beneath her top. I smiled. It was juvenile to think of it; yet the awkward fumbles only reminded me how tired I was. Oh, how fast time goes!The toll and stress of daily living, a stark contrast to the bachelor partying I once enjoyed; who was this thin, bookish man that looked out from the mirror?
I still remember my wanton muse, and the time beneath her silky sheets. Would she still remember me? I left the house, in search for the promise she once made to me. My wife called out to me, her voice a jolt of reality that chilled my frenzied longing, " Johnny, what time will you be coming home?" Maybe never, my dear. maybe never.
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